


Carswell's Guide to Orange Trees

by Zissa



Category: Lunar Chronicles - Marissa Meyer
Genre: Childhood, Family, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Prequel, Young Carswell Thorne
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-12
Updated: 2016-09-12
Packaged: 2018-08-14 14:17:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8017255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zissa/pseuds/Zissa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nine-year-old Carswell Thorne has found that his neighbors' fruit trees are a wonderful source of ill-gotten univs, but even the best rackets have a way of going terribly, terribly wrong. Basically a bit of family fluff set pre-CGTBL.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Based on an idea from shanlightyear and a set of headcanons concocted with her.

Carswell Thorne was a businessman, first and foremost. He could schmooze, he could scheme, and he could and would do anything he needed to do to further his entrepreneurial success. But that didn't mean he liked all of it. There were certain duties he performed in the name of extra univs-like sneaking past Mrs. Chen's Doberman to get at her lemon trees or pelting down the alley behind the pawnshop when it was a little dark outside for his nine year-old sensibilities-that he really would've preferred to leave undone

Tree-climbing was one of them.

Carswell let out a sigh as he stared up into the canopy of the orange tree whose base he stood at it. It towered a good fifteen feet above him at its apex and practically groaned with the weight of the ripe fruit tucked amongst its leaves. The ripe fruit that seemed to be nowhere but in the uppermost branches. If he was careful—and lucky—he could probably come away with twenty oranges before the tree's owners spotted him. He cast a glance down the lawn at the house. The Santos family wasn't always home in the afternoons…Maybe twenty-five.

He notched one tennis shoe onto a low branch and hauled himself up the trunk by clinging to another with both hands. He'd gotten fairly good at this over summer break. It was a decent racket, given the sheer number of fruit trees, the utter lack of supervision—either from his parents or the neighbors whose fruit he was absconding with—and the level of gullibility his neighbors demonstrated when approached by a charming nine year old entrepreneur. He'd accumulated thirty univs so far—almost enough to purchase the 214 Rampion model he'd been eyeing at the hobby shop for the last few months—and he expected to have the rest by the end of the week.

It didn't take long to fill the bag he'd slung over his shoulders with fruit, but there were still plenty of tempting marks peeping at him from the higher branches. Carswell frowned. The higher he went, the thinner and more delicate the branches became. He glanced down at the concrete sidewalk below, biting his lip at the distance. He wasn't overly large for his age, but he wasn't completely sure that the slender branches would take his weight. And yet…at three oranges a univs, he could have all the funds he needed if he could take those last few.

It was a gamble he was willing to take.

He slipped the bag off over his head and carefully let it drop to the ground below to cut the extra weight before swinging up into the higher branches. Gingerly, he moved from one to the next, plucking as many oranges as he could reach and stuffing them down the neck of his button-down until only one remained just out of his reach. A breeze swept through the canopy, rustling the leaves and swaying the branch on which he stood. Carswell glanced down and promptly clutched the branch he was clinging to that much tighter. His stomach churned uneasily at the dizzying gap between his shoes and the ground far, far below. He hadn't realized just how high up he was…He scrunched his eyes closed and squared his shoulders before he opened them again. Scared or not, there was no point in giving up when he was this close. He had a Rampion to buy, after all. He tightened his grip and took a single, cautious step forward, his other arm stretching out to claim the final orange.

_Snap!_

Carswell flinched at the audible crack, then suddenly the world was falling away beneath him. He let out a high-pitched yell as he plummeted, leaves and branches and bark flying past him in a blur of color. Twigs lashed at him, stinging his bare face and arms as he twisted in mid-air and flailed for a handhold to slow his fall. The ground rushed up to meet him all too quickly and suddenly he was slamming into the sidewalk like a downed spaceship plowing into the soil.

For a moment, he just laid there, panting and staring up at the branches above as they waved tauntingly in the wind. He wiggled his toes experimentally, relieved to find that they still worked even if the rest of his body ached as if he'd been mowed down by an oncoming freight hover. Tiny stars danced across his vision with every shift of his gaze. He waited until they cleared before attempting to sit up, but the attempt cut off with a cry of pain before he'd even cleared the sidewalk. Sharp pain stabbed through his right arm, pulsing from his wrist all the way up into his shoulder with even the barest of movements. Carswell tried again, more slowly this time. Somehow, the pain seemed even worse. He whimpered and went limp on the concrete. He craned his head to get a look at the offending limb and frowned. It didn't look broken...He was no expert, but he _had_ seen Dylan Simmons fall off the swings at school and come up with an arm bent at a truly horrible angle that their teacher had immediately deemed broken. Perhaps this was only a sprain. He knew even less about sprains than he did about breaks, but they sounded less serious and the less serious the injury, the more likely it was that he could get away without telling his parents about it.

Of course, whether he told his parents or not was irrelevant if he never managed to pick himself up off the sidewalk.

He had to at some point or a member of the Santos family was sure to spot him sprawled beneath their orange tree and rat him out. Carswell scowled to himself. Young Daven Santos quite enjoyed doing that when he got the chance. Well, he wouldn't get the chance today. Carswell tensed, steeling himself for what he knew was coming, and rolled to his feet as quickly as he could. As expected, the ache in his arm flared, prying a soft cry from his throat no matter how stealthy he was trying to be. But at least he was on his feet.

He clutched his arm to his chest with his uninjured limb and started hobbling toward home. If he hurried, he could make it home before Janette returned from her grocery run, but after his parents left for the charity event they were committed to for that evening. He glanced briefly at his pack full of oranges, but decided they weren't worth the effort. Every step jarred his wounded arm, sending a hot spark of pain up into his shoulder. That was going to be hard enough to make it back, even without juggling a bag of stolen oranges. Carswell's heart sank at the thought of home. And of his parents. Getting home wouldn't be fun, but compared to figuring out what to do when he got there...it would be the easy part.


	2. Chapter 2

Though the walk home took nearly three times as long as it should have, Carswell managed to slink into the house unnoticed. He paused in the kitchen long enough to dig an icepack out of the freezer before retreating to the safety of his room and closing the door behind him. He eased himself down onto his bed and propped the icepack over his throbbing arm. It didn't erase the pain the way he'd hoped it would, but at least the cold seemed to numb it a little.

He left it there as the afternoon wore on and blurred into evening, eventually curling into a tight little ball around the injured arm and the slowly warming icepack because it hurt too badly to do anything else. Janette had been home for a few hours—he could hear the pots and pans rattling in the kitchen when she fixed dinner—so he didn't dare attempt a run to the kitchen to replace it with a cool one. It had been a close enough call when she tapped on his door to call him to dinner. Truthfully, he hadn't expected the "not hungry" excuse to work, but somehow it had, and he'd been left alone as the night passed. Though…he wasn't quite sure he wanted to be left alone.

Carswell listened to the faint whir of the hover's engines as his parents coasted into the garage just after midnight. He listened to the whispered pleasantries they exchanged when Janette greeted them in the entry. He listened to the muted echoes of his mother's heels and his father's boots as they made their way up their stairs to pass to their own room. His pulse hitched when the footsteps paused outside his door. Perhaps they would look in on him. He _knew_ they did sometimes because there were nights when he knew he fell asleep hunched over a new model ship on his desk, but awoke the next morning tucked cozily into bed. And—though it he didn't want to admit it—he half-wished they would. He would be found out, of course, but at least then he wouldn't be lying there in the dark, alone and…well. Not _afraid_. Just…concerned. That was the word his father used when he frowned over the newsfeeds about Luna. That was the word the heroes in the netdramas used as the space ninjas closed in. And Carswell Thorne could be just as brave. Even if his lower lip trembled ever so slightly as the footsteps in the hall faded into the distance.

* * *

"Captain, it doesn't matter if you're hungry or not, you _must_ come down to breakfast." Janette insisted from the other side of Carswell's bedroom door. There was a pause and her voice softened a little. "I even made pancakes."

Carswell sighed and screwed his bleary eyes shut for a moment. He hadn't slept, so a dull headache pounded behind his eyes. He hadn't eaten dinner, so his stomach felt as if something was gnawing at it from the inside. His arm hurt just as badly, only now it was stiffer and the pain was sharper and the flesh was beginning to bruise. If he went downstairs, there would be no hiding it from anyone. And while honesty might have seemed like a tempting option in the middle of the night when he was scared and lonely, it was much less attractive now. Still…his parents would never let a skipped meal go unnoticed. There was nothing he could do but face it and hope to get lucky. "I'll be down in a minute."

He took his time in making his way to the kitchen. Hopefully, both of his parents would be engrossed in the morning newsfeeds by the time he got there. His father might even be finished and headed out the door to work if he timed it right. Of course, Janette would still be a problem, but at least it would be easier if she were the one to find out first.

"You're late." Carswell flinched as he slid clumsily into his seat. His father didn't look up from perusing the morning news, but it was obvious by both his tone and by the wrinkle between his brows that he had something on his mind. Carswell hunched his shoulders, holding his injured arm close in an effort to minimize the attention drawn to it.

"Sorry, sir." Carswell murmured. There was already a neat stack of fluffy pancakes on the plate in front of him, but his stomach turned at the sight of them. What had been hunger a few moments earlier had shifted to pure nerves.

"Adrian Santos called me this morning. Would you like to guess why?"

Carswell tensed, then instantly regretted it when a jolt of pain shot through his arm. _Santos_. If Mr. Santos had called, then it would be all downhill from here. "Um…"

"Would you like to explain why he found a sack full of their oranges on the ground under their tree?" Kingsley's voice rose. "A sack with _your_ name on the tag?"

"Uh…" Carswell couldn't think. Any other day he would've been able to retort with ease. Any other day, it would've been an easy story to spin. But today, it was all just too much. Even the best nine-year-old businessman could only take so much.

"Surely you can do better than 'uh'— "

A soft sniffle sounded over Kingsley's voice. He paused, finally glancing up from the news to frown at Carswell. Carswell just gulped, trying desperately hard to tamp down the tears. Tears were not acceptable. He was a businessman and businessmen didn't cry at the breakfast table, but...it hurt. His arm throbbed from elbow to wrist, the pain splintering off into his fingers and spiking with every movement he made. He couldn't sleep in the comfort of his bed, he couldn't eat his favorite food, and he certainly couldn't argue with his father. Not right now, anyway.

"Carswell?" His mother laid her portscreen down on the table next to her plate, her brow furrowing with concern as she looked him over for the first time since he came to the table. "Sweetheart, what's wrong?"

"I...I..." He fumbled for a cover story, his mind whirling with half-formed excuses, but he was too tired to pull any of them together into a coherent lie. He sucked in a shaky breath, blinking fast to ward off the first tears that threatened to spill down his cheeks.

"Your arm...why are you holding it like that?" Kingsley said quietly, half-rising from his chair to get a better look. Janette came through the archway between the pantry and the breakfast nook, curiosity in her eyes as she came to investigate the commotion. Carswell tightened his grip on his sleeve, tucking the wounded arm more tightly against his chest. Kingsley's frown deepened and his gaze lifted to exchange concerned glances with Carswell's mother. "Carswell. Tell us what happened."

Carswell bit his lip, weighing his options in his head. If he told, he would almost certainly be grounded. Possibly for the rest of the summer break. That would be the end of his fruit mogul days. He glanced down the arm he clutched against his stomach. On the other hand, if he didn't, it might be the end of his arm. And he was very attached to that arm.

"Carswell..."Janette rounded the table to crouch next to his chair, her voice dropping low enough for only the two of them on the next word. "Captain. Let me see."

Her voice was soft and kind and gentle, but just firm enough for Carswell to relent. He slowly extended the injured arm into Janette's grasp, the story spilling out of him as she drew back his sleeve. His mother gasped sharply at the ugly bruises that mottled his flesh and his father flinched at the mention of how he had plummeted to the sidewalk. Janette just held his hand and murmured soft encouragements when he wavered in his confession.

"It's probably broken." Kingsley announced gruffly, shoving away from his side of the table and coming around to Carswell's. He scooped Carswell up in one easy motion, careful of the wounded arm, but moving fast enough to telegraph his worry through his movements, and strode out into the hall. The others followed, Janette shedding her apron as they neared the garage and Carswell's mother wringing her hands. Carswell propped his chin on his father's shoulder and squinted at her. Something seemed...different. She flashed a strained smile and reached up to pet his hair. It dawned on him that for the first time he could remember, her portscreen was nowhere in sight. And her eyes were firmly focused on him rather than on a comm from her friends or a new design website. He sighed as the four of them piled into the hover and his father's grip tightened. Kingsley paused in keying the name of the nearest medical center into the piloting system, glancing down sharply at the sound with worry in his eyes. Carswell pasted on a reassuring smile because that's what the heroes in his netdramas always did, but his came out wobbly. No matter.

The hover lifted with a jolt, prompting a faint yelp from Carswell when it jarred his arm. His mother reached across the seat between them to fuss over its position and his father let out a low, apologetic rumble and held him tighter. Though he hadn't originally been thrilled with the idea of telling his parents about his arm, it was becoming clear that honesty had an unexpected perk. At least, this time around.

It didn't take long to make the trip from the suburbs to the nearest medical center with an emergency room. Carswell was rushed inside by all three family members, and quickly whisked off into an exam room by a medical droid. Kingsley settled him gently on the exam table and took a reluctantly step back when the android shooed him away. Carswell's mother closed the distance between them, taking up residence in the only seat in the room while Janette stepped out to flag down a nurse, conversing with her in soft, hushed tones.

"Name, please." The android's optical lenses shifted, a soft blue light washing over Carswell as it scanned him from head to toe, then turning a shade of bright green as the beam narrowed to trace over his arm a second time.

"Carswell Thorne."

"Onset of injury?"

"It happened yesterday afternoon." Kingsley offered when Carswell's brow furrowed at the unfamiliar phrasing. The android paused and the beam of light winked out.

"Patients are advised to seek medical attention immediately in case of potential injury," It said, swiveling on its wheels to plug its data node into the console by the door, transmitting the results of the scan to the hospitals system. Carswell yawned and his shoulders slumped. He had only been here once before and that had been several years ago when his mother suspected that he might have a concussion after launching himself off the top of his dresser in an attempt to fly among the glow in the dark stars on his ceiling. That visit had seemed to take forever, and if the slow-as-molasses android was any example, so would this one. That was unfortunate. He was too tired for this.

"Yes, we are aware of that." Kingsley glanced Carswell's way and frowned as sternly as he could while still hovering like a mother hen. "And I'm sure this sort of delay won't happen again...will it, Carswell?"

"No, sir." Or at least if it did, his parents would never know about it.

The indicator light on the console flashed green and the android disconnected, pulling away to face the trio again. "Diagnosis: Buckle fracture. Common in children and athletes, often attributed to falls or contact sports. Treatment: immobilization. Recovery time: four to six weeks. Pain medication will be administered if requested."

Both of Carswell's parents breathed a sigh of relief. Carswell pouted. Immobilization...that probably meant a cast. Casts were annoying if the unfortunate classmates he'd observed with them were any example and the colors usually clashed horribly with the school uniform. They were bulky and by definition difficult to move in. Having one certainly spelled the end of his orange venture.

"Oh, good...that could've been so much worse, sweetheart." His mother rose to stand next to the table as the android exited to retrieve the proper equipment for the cast, leaning in to press a kiss to his forehead. Kingsley nodded his agreement, fiddling absently with one of the buttons on the sleeve of his uniform. Carswell realized with a jolt that his father should've been at the base half an hour ago. His father—who had never missed so much as an hour of work in his life—hadn't even called in to warn his colleagues of his absence. Instead he was here, sitting in the ER with his son.

"I've seen those orange trees. If you had landed differently, you could've been...you might've..." He murmured, almost more to himself than to Carswell, his face looking suddenly paler under the harsh lights of the exam room. He broke off there, his jaw tightening as he lifted his gaze to Carswell. "Don't ever do that again, do you understand me? You want oranges, you get them from our kitchen."

Carswell arched a brow. He hadn't considered that angle. Mostly because he hadn't thought he could get away with it. However, if his father was offering his permission, then—

"And I mean for eating, not for selling." He paused. "On that note, you're grounded. Profiteering isn't how I want my son spending the rest of his summer."

"But-"

"Carswell!"

Carswell let out a huff, but settled back against the table anyway. He would've folded his arms in defiance, but that was hard to do at the moment. The door opened and the android reentered with a medical kit in hand and Janette trailing behind. She conferred briefly with Mrs. Thorne while the android saw to outfitting Thorne with the cast he required—in a truly horrible shade of bright blue—and instructing Kingsley on proper care techniques for the next four weeks. Once Carswell's arm was securely trussed up and pain medications were dispensed, Janette stepped over to join him.

"Well, Captain? How are you feeling now?"

"Eh." He shrugged with his uninjured shoulder, staring glumly at his parents as they handled the discharge process. As much of a relief as it was to know that his arm would be well again within a few weeks, there was still a hint of defeat in the air. His summer was shot. His father would never be dissuaded and Carswell would spend his summer in his room over the pursuit of a few lousy oranges.

"Well, whether or not you feel it now, I know you will feel better later." Janette said, fishing in her purse for something and grinning when she came up with what she'd been after: the fat, black marker she kept on hand for him to doodle with if he got too bored when he accompanied her on grocery trips or the like. Carswell stared at her as she uncapped it and leaned over his cast, scribbling something in her quick, swirly script. He smiled when she pulled away enough to read it. _Get better soon! Much love, Janette_. She handed him the marker, then, and winked. "Take it with you when you go back to school. For the ladies."

Carswell grinned broadly (though he had to stifle a yawn to do it), hefting the marker in his good hand. That was another angle he hadn't considered. He slipped it into his pocket as his parents returned to his side, ready to collect him for the trip home. His mother went back to smoothing a hand over his hair in careful, soothing strokes while they waited for an android to bring the wheelchair that discharge protocol demanded he ride to the front door in. His father leaned against the table, glancing occasionally at the door to keep an eye out for the android, but never looking away from Carswell for very long. Carswell just relaxed. It wasn't the outcome he had expected when he started scaling the orange tree the day before. But, he mused as he blinked drowsily at the family gathered around him, it wasn't a complete disaster, either.


End file.
